8 Bird - Lore 



Coming out l)y a different path, a small bunch in a }-oung cedar held the 

 warden's eye; he went to it, thinking to lind an undiscovered nest. No, it was a 

 tiny Owl, the Acadian, the smallest of his tribe, almost dead from hunger, as 

 an overlajiped claw impeded his natural means of hunting, and the cold driv- 

 ing wind was rapidly doing the rest. Hunger and cold a bird may endure, but 

 these, plus wind, will overcome even a deeply feathered Owl. 



He was taken to the workshop, thawed out, his overlapping claw straight- 

 ened, given a place in a "hospital cage," and some Starling meat placed at his 

 disposal. Before the month was out he was given the liberty of the cellar, 

 and boarded himself and something over by mouse-catching. 



A sheaf of rye was set out in the open, and all the winter birds were peck- 

 ing at it; even the Thrasher, who for some whim had not migrated but lived 

 under the cottage porch, was interested. A shadow passed above, and with 

 shrill cries of terror the birds disappeared in the nearest brush. All but one 

 Purple Finch, who was too late. The Sharp-shinned Hawk fell on him and 

 darted away. There is no more agonizing sound than that of a bird who sees 

 the Hawk about to grasp it; this is a tragedy against which the protector of 

 winter bird-life must ever be on guard. In itself this is no small responsibility; 

 can you accept it? 



The Thrasher had many narrow escapes from Sharp-shinned and Cooper's 

 Hawks. A real summer, insect-eating bird like the Thrasher Mockingbird or 

 Orchard Oriole that insisted on remaining during the winter of 1907, is really 

 too great a responsibility as a winter guest; they are ill at ease in bare trees, 

 and I would much prefer that such as these would not take the notion once in 

 a time to keep me company. 



Though this Thrasher survived last winter and broke into full song before 

 any others of his tribe had arrived, he was always on our minds, and had 

 to be treated as something not normal, an unpleasant condition unless to 

 prove some theory. To my mind, half the real pleasure to be won from 

 nature is from coming in contact with the normal and meeting everything 

 according to its season. 



Where winter birds gather in unusual numbers, because of food and shelter, 

 there will Hawk and Shrike follow. The deep woodlands are then birdless, 

 and the colder the winter the greater the hunger, while the only remedy is 

 eternal vigilance — the carefully watched trap with the humane, padded jaws, 

 and the well-aimed gun. 



The Shrikes, to my mind, should not be protected during their winter 

 migration, the Northern on its southward trip and the Loggerhead on its 

 northern wanderings; their toll of small birds is too great. Let our Wise Men, 

 who framed the generally wise A. O. U. Law, look into the matter; let them 

 examine the blood-splashes on the pages of The Birds" Book of Snow and see 

 its records of headless songsters, either left on the ground or hooked on bushes 

 and fence-barbs. Now the warden who has been reading in the Book for four 



